


Painted Love

by Svartalfur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfur/pseuds/Svartalfur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape's life as a portrait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted Love

Severus pushed the bowl with lemon drops away and shook his head. He knew that if he ate only one more sweet that tasted like oil paint, he was going to vomit - oil paint, of course. Dumbledore twinkled. "Don't worry, my boy," he said, "you'll get used to it."

Severus didn't worry. Life as a portrait suited him. A misanthropist in his lifetime, alone and miserable, he was now a respected member of the Hogwarts paintings community. Portraits were a lot more tolerant than men, having to live in eternity with the character traits of their human models imprinted. Incapable of change, they had to learn acceptance.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to it, though. He loved brewing potions in the painting of a dungeons lab, but even his vilest concoctions tasted only like oil paint and - what was worse - smelled like it. His sweat smelled like oil paint, too, and so did his come. Wanking, the greatest pleasure of his solitary life, had lost its appeal.

"It's all a question of your imagination," the fat lady said when she urged him to drink his wine. "The more you believe our world to be real, the more real it'll become for you."

"Why can't you imagine yourself as a talented singer then?" Severus asked, handing her the empty glass. "It would be such a relief for the ears."

"What a sweetheart he is," the fat lady said to her friend Violet. "In his lifetime, he was famous for his sarcastic wit."

Time passed. Severus learned to enjoy the simple comforts of painted life, the chats with Albus and Phineas Nigellus, his friendship with Salazar's portrait in the Slytherin common room, pondering over a chessboard for endless hours. Severus’ greatest joy was the contact to the students. That he reduced the Potter spawn - a Slytherin and Severus' namesake, poor lad - to tears within minutes became common talk among the portraits. "Our Severus," they would say, "never lost his bite."

Later, he and the Potter brat bonded when Albus Severus' older brother - a much bigger brat and the spitting image of his grandfather - threatened to set the painting of Severus' potions lab on fire. James Potter the younger never threatened a painting again, and Severus and Al established a long-term truce. Slytherins had to stick together after all.

Life as a portrait would have been perfect, if it weren't for the taste and smell.

* * *

Everything changed when one cold winter morning - the smell of fresh oil paint in the air - Headmaster Hugo Weasley entered his office, his freckles more prominent than ever and his white beard full of icicles.

"Headmaster Snape," he greeted Severus, "a jolly good morning to you. If you would just hop out of your frame and visit the painting opposite the gargoyle, there's someone waiting to meet you."

That Potter hadn't changed would've been a lie. He had been portrayed in the middle of his life, with silver hair and a little potbelly under his Muggle waistcoat. His hair was still unruly, though, and his eyes behind expensive glasses were just the same.

"Potter," Severus said, leaning against the gold frame that surrounded the new portrait. "Finally snuffed it?"

Rising from his comfy chair in front of the painted fireplace, Potter had the audacity to smile. "Severus Snape," he said, "charming as ever."

"I'm famous for my sarcastic wit, not my charm. You better get used to it. What are you doing here anyway? Are you acting deliberately as an obstacle in my way to the dungeons?"

Potter blushed and lowered his head. "I forgot the basic principles of being a portrait. You'll never get over your hatred for me now, and I ..."

Severus waited a moment, but nothing came forth. "Your conversational skills haven't changed with the years. I sincerely hope that your wife could make any sense out of your babble. Where is she? Still alive?"

Shaking his head, Potter blushed even more. His cheeks were as red as the apple in the still life at the kitchen entrance that looked so delicious and still tasted like paint. Fascinated, Severus stepped fully into the painting, warming his hands over Potter's fire. To understand Potter's mumbled answer, he had to lean in even closer.

"We divorced after Lily left Hogwarts. It turned out that I wasn't the man Ginny wanted me to be. Iamgay."

"What?" Severus' knees wobbled and he sank into Potter's armchair.

"I am gay," Potter repeated, looking down at Severus with a strange little smile.

"Will wonders never cease. I'd never have thought to have something in common with the hero of the wizarding world."

Potter's smile faltered. "It's a pity you hate me," he said.

The heat from the fireplace was suddenly unbearable, and Severus wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You can always pay Sir Cadogan a visit. He's that way inclined, too."

Severus had forgotten how beautiful Potter was when struggling for words. The air smelled of pine wood and smoke, and Severus grabbed Potters arms, pulling him close. "Forget everything I said," he whispered.

"But," Potter said with lips that were sweet and red, "but you hate me."

"Does that feel like hatred for you?" Severus pushed upwards against Potter's leg, showing Potter exactly what his feelings were for him right now.

"Oh," Potter said. "If you don't hate me, does that mean you never hated me? I mean, you're a portrait and -"

"Shut up. Put your mouth to better use."

Potter's kiss was hot and wet. It tasted like saliva and red wine - intoxicating, perfect.


End file.
